Chapter 1
Bellevue, Washington. The city I grew up in, the city of rainy days and stolen smiles, the city I love. This city is where it rains while the sun is shining, or while the moon beams down on you and your friends playing in the empty streets, when the busier streets are bustling with people and traffic. In this city, summertime is cool and relaxed, filled with sunshine and light rain, and winter is spent inside, cuddling with your family and friends while you watch Disney movies and laugh at each other. This is the city where coffee is the regular sight in everyone’s hand, accompanied by a bookbag or a suitcase to keep everything dry. This is the city of umbrellas and “excuse me”s in hustle and bustle of everyday life. This is a city of love and of laughter, but it is also a city of great sadness. Many people have come here to abandon their Earthly careers, and many people can’t handle the rain and the gloom of clouds overhead. Those that can are the special ones. They’re the ones you have to keep in your life. But sometimes, they leave. You just have to hope that they’ll be back. Some of them, though, you never want to return. They cause you terrible pain and loneliness just by being in your vicinity. And so you let them leave and move on with your life, but some of those people cling to your heart and just won’t let go.
The sound of feet slapping wet pavement fills the air, bringing me back to reality. Everyone is bustling around the train station, getting on and off of trains and waiting for people to arrive. Summer has officially begun. A light rain chills the already cool air, lowering the anticipated seventy degrees to sixty. The smell of rain drags me back into my daydreaming; I imagine myself sitting by the window at home with a nice book. My best friend is laying across my lap, and our cat is curled up by his side, leaning against my thigh. The sudden, overwhelming feeling of loss makes me realize that I miss Beckett more than I thought. Beckett always looked at me like I was the moon; as if I was a wonder to behold. To him, I was beautiful, held in the very special position of his best friend. Beckett would spend hours just watching me talk. He would tell me which guys were the cutest, and console me when I broke my own heart. To me, he was the night sky, in that he held me up for all to see my glory. Beckett became my best friend when Peggy, whom I no longer speak to, left me behind at a party full of drunk boys. Before the inebriated toddlers could corner me, Beckett came to my rescue and pretended to be my boyfriend. He knows that I could have gotten myself out of that situation, but it’s always easier to have a less violent backup plan. After that night, Beckett became, quite possibly, the most important person in my life. I had no friends anymore and didn’t know who I could trust. But I could always trust Beck.
For as long as I can remember, I supported him as he supported me. About four years ago to the day, he moved to Delaware to go to college. I stayed here and went to the local university. The past few years have been hard for the both of us, but today is the day my best friend comes home.
While Beckett was away, I moved into his house to keep it for him until he got back, just as I promised, and got a job here in Bellevue as a photographer. Although it took a few more years to secure a steady career, it makes me happy, and Beckett always said that “If it doesn’t make you smile, it isn’t worth the effort.”
As I’m thinking about what Beckett and I have to catch up on, a familiar face pops into my line of vision. I absolutely cannot believe what I am seeing right now. This person, who hasn’t so much as breathed in my direction in years, is staring right at me from the other side of the tracks. Her stupidly pretty doe-like green eyes, forever accented with flawless blue eyeliner, lock onto mine. I notice the way she fidgets with her skirt, unsure of whether or not she should approach me. The answer is obviously a big N-O, but I never knew her to pick up on others’ negative feelings. And just like that, Peggy’s pink hair and tiny waist are bouncing in my direction.
My initial reaction is to flee, but I don’t want to make a scene. Plus, if I leave, I won’t be here to greet Beckett when he arrives. I am utterly trapped; my ex-best friend is practically flying towards me, and she is the very last person I want to see!
“Lynnie! Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen you since Sophomore year! What are you doing in Seattle?” God, I hate her absurdly sweet voice. It sounds like it’s saturated and dripping with something sticky and overly sugary. I have to suppress a gag the image of sticky, sugar-drenched slime oozing out of Peggy’s mouth. Her chirpy notes bring me back out of my disturbing daydream. “What are you doing here?”
“I guess it has been a long time,” I say, shaking my head at how that voice once made me smile, chastizing myself for insulting her, “but I’m waiting for Beckett’s train to arrive.”
Peggy falls silent for a while, allowing me time to think. During these quiet moments, I think of Beckett. I think of the way he looks, the way he sounds. For four years, the only time I’ve heard his voice is when we stayed up late into the night talking on the phone, until one of us passed out. Sometimes we’d stay up until around 6:00 A.M. before we fell asleep. Usually, we cut it off sometime before 3 if one of us had work in the morning. The one thing that stays with me, though, is how much I miss his smile. A smile that warms your heart and keeps it warm all day. A smile that says, “I’m here for you,” and stays up way too late to make sure you finally get some sleep.
My thoughts begin to wander to how long it will take for his train to arrive at the station, but swiftly turn to the way Beckett looks now. I think back to our video chats on Skype and piece together an image of his face. Beckett has tanned skin, much darker than my own, although I guess I’m not the best comparison since I’m as white as paper. His cheeks are rosy and his smile is absolutely perfect. Beckett’s teeth have always been oddly white, but he got braces in middle school to straighten them. How odd, I think, that he wasn’t always perfect. I focus on the thought of Beck’s eyes, how they’re deep set and crystalline blue, with long, dark lashes that make him look very boyish at times. Every time he laughs, his eyes shimmer with a knowledge that I can’t understand. Beckett has a strong jaw and a straight nose; his facial features are somehow perfectly symmetrical, and I have to wonder if he was constructed specifically by the gods to bless me with a beautiful person to call my best friend. That is, if gods exist.
Staring off into space, I start to think that I sound like a lovesick puppy dog. I am not in love with Beckett Cassidy. He is my best friend and that’s that. Another thought occurs to me just as that one passes: what’s so wrong about admiring how beautiful your friends are, anyway? Girls say that about each other all the time, what makes it different that a girl is saying it about a guy? Honestly, what am I saying? Or, thinking, I guess.. People can recognize someone is attractive without being attracted to them. I do it all the time.
I realize that Peggy has started talking again, which pulls me out of my daze. I look her over, taking note of how little she’s changed. She has the same pink hair, thin waist, and tan, glowing skin. She hasn’t grown any, either, seeing as she still looks to be about five feet tall. Again, my thoughts focus in on Beckett. If you asked me, I wouldn’t be able to name an exact color for Beckett’s hair like I would with Peggy’s damaged, bubblegum pink locks. Peggy’s hair has been dyed way too many times. She needs to let it regain its health. Beckett’s hair is short, neat, and almost curly. His hair has an attractive deep color that reminds me of dark chocolate; it always looks soft and clean. I think it makes him look handsome.
Why Beck waited to come home until summer was over, I don’t know, but I do know that he’ll be tired, so we’ll have to go home and rest for a few hours. Maybe we’ll just sleep for the rest of the day. That would be nice, and it would give me an excuse to cuddle with Skittles. What a sweet cat... I bet he missed Beckett as much as I did.
“Hello? Earth to Lyyn?” Peggy’s melodic voice reminds me that I have to respond. “Why are you sparking? Are you okay? Do I need to take you to the hospital?!”
Shaking my head, I mumble, “sorry, I zoned out,” quickly distinguishing the electricity running through down my arms. “What did you say?” I hear my voice ask Peggy that question as if it's coming from someone else's body. What surprises me the most, though, is how soft-spoken I sound. A few minutes ago, I had been speaking with a normal volume, or at least as normal as someone can sound at a busy train station. Now, though, I sound too quiet, so much so that I almost can’t hear my own words.
Peggy’s expression changes to a somewhat annoyed look. “I said, do you want to go get lunch later?”
“Oh, no thank you,” I reply a bit too quickly, “I have plans today.”
“Oh.” Peggy’s eyes seem to darken in color, almost like a thick green swamp. Her eyes look so out of place when they do that. They don’t match her bubbly personality. After a moment’s silence, Peggy is miraculously bright-eyed and chipper again. “Well how about tomorrow, yeah? You don’t ever have anything to do on Thursdays, anyway.”
I’m trying so hard not to let the anger seep into my voice, I really am, but I just can’t help it. She hardly knows me at all, and here she is telling me what my plans are. Several years' worth of pain and anger come boiling out of me all at once. I’ve somehow found my voice again and a few people look in our direction when I shout, “I always have plans on Thursdays, Peggy!”
Peggy’s eyes darken again, and I realize that they do that every time she’s not getting her way. “You don’t have to be so rude. I’m just being friendly, Lynnie, I haven’t seen you in s—”
“Peggy, it was your choice to stop talking to me!” Interrupting her, I turn to look her right in her stupid, pretty face. “Plus, you just assumed that I’m an antisocial hermit and told me that I never have plans? What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t just come back into my life after this many years and try to dictate what I do! I’m making plans for every day this month, and the next, and the rest of the year, so leave me alone, alright?!” Stepping back, I take a deep breath and look around. A few people are staring, but most of them are carrying on with their day. After that outburst, I don’t think I’ll be able to come back to Seattle for at least three decades.
“Excuse me?” I can’t help but smile at the way Peggy’s voice goes up an octave on that last syllable. My smile fades when I remember that it's out of anger and not fondness, like it used to be.
Without looking at her, I quietly say, “just leave me alone, Peggy,” and continue watching people run around the station. I feel bad for snapping at her… Then again, she did abandon me, stab me in the back, cut off contact with me, and shove me aside for the popular group. So, yeah, I don’t really feel that bad.
Turning my attention to the clock on the wall opposite me, I watch the second hand tick away, straining to hear the soft clicking it makes. I vaguely wonder if Peggy is still behind me, but quickly dismiss the thought, tilting my head up to look at the sky. The train station has several buildings to wait in, but most people still choose to wait outside of them. All of the buildings are spaced about twenty feet apart, so that the sky can be clearly seen from under the canopies. By now, the light rain from earlier has become a downpour, splashing up onto the pavement a few feet in front of me. As I listen to the rain coming down, two trains pull into the station right on time. I watch the first train impatiently, shifting my weight from leg to leg. I grab my umbrella and pop it open. Stepping out past the canopy, my jeans are immediately assaulted by raindrops splashing off of the already flooded ground, but I don’t care at all. I’m so excited!
The train doors slide open and hoards of people clamber out, shoving past me to get to safety inside of the station’s buildings. I don’t stop to think about how odd it is that all of the lights are off.
I try to smooth out my hair to the best of my ability with my free hand, electricity flowing in currents up my arm and down my spine, circling back to my hand again. I let the warmth and familiarity of it calm my mind, thoughts bursting like broken light bulbs.
Light bulbs. Weren’t the lights out in that building? Turning my attention to the building behind me, I focus on the lights, or rather the lack thereof. Something isn’t right. I can’t turn on the lights.
Before I can investigate further, Beckett steps off of the train. “Lyyn!”
“Beck, there’s something wrong with the station. The light bulbs have all been broken. They won’t turn on.”
Beckett’s stature immediately changes and his face takes on a sober expression. Trying to disguise the worry in his voice, he asks, “Your gift isn’t working?”
“No, it’s working fine.” I show him my palm, which is sparking with electricity, and flicker the train lights.
The air is tense. “Then we need to call the police. Right now.”
“Already on it,” I reply as I dial the emergency phone line. Listening to the dial tone, I take a step closer to Beckett, watching the building anxiously. “C’mon…”
“This is the Seattle Police Department, what’s your emergency?”
“Hi, this is Lyyn Elis, I’m at the train station on Jackson. The lights in the buildings have all shut off and my gift can’t turn them back on, which means they’re broken. I saw a few suspicious looking people around here, I think someone purposefully broke the lights, but I didn’t hear any gunfire.”
After a moment, the operator speaks up again. “Okay, could you describe the people you mentioned?”
“Yes ma’am. They were both wearing long grey coats that looked a bit expensive, but the rest of their clothes looked very dirty and cheap. Both men were white, and I got a glimpse of one of their faces. He had deep-set eyes and his nose was crooked. His hair partially obscured his face.”
“Okay, do you remember anything else? What were they doing that was suspicious?” replies the operator, clearly typing what I was saying, judging by the clicking sound coming from my phone.
I pick up where I left off, describing the two men and their actions in as much detail as I can remember.
“Great, thank you. Those descriptions match the profiles of two criminals who recently escaped from their holding cell. Stay out of the building, we’re dispatching the nearest officers to your location.” As she says this, I feel some of the tension release from my shoulders.
I sigh, “Okay, my friend and I will stay where we are.”
“Thank you. Just a second, can I have your name again?”
Hesitating, I consider the phrasing of her question. I guess it’s not that odd, but…
“Hello? Are you alright?”
“Yes, sorry,” I snap back to reality, “My name is Lyyn Elis.”
After a pause, the operator thanks me and tells me how far away the nearest unit is. I thank her and hang up.
The awful, sick feeling in my chest makes me want to run away, but I know if I do, something bad will happen. I’ve seen these situations before. Nothing good ever happens if you leave before the police come.
Pushing down the terror rising up from the pit of my stomach, I grab Beckett’s hand and squeeze it. It’s not much, but it helps to know that he’s still here. I hate this helpless feeling. The feeling I get when there’s nothing I can do to help people. I’m tired of feeling this way and I want to do something to change it, but I don’t know how, and that absolutely kills me.
By now my hair is a sopping wet mess, at least where the rain can get to it. I can feel the heaviness of it pulling on my head, threatening to topple me over. My hair is too long, it will only get in the way if I try to do anything to help. I’m constantly on the verge of walking on it, what good will it do me if it’s wet and dragging? I don’t even have a hair tie…
“Lyyn,” Beckett’s voice breaks through my tangled thoughts. “We have to do something. The police might not get here in time, we can—”
“No!” I shout, spinning to face him fully. “We could get killed! We have no idea if they have weapons, or what kind of powers their gifts give them, or—”
Beckett steps under my umbrella, taking it from my hand and closing it. The rain doesn’t touch us. “Lyyn, if there’s a risk we could be killed, there’s also a risk that the civilians inside that building can be killed. I know you want to help. So, now is the time to decide. Do we go in and try to solve this ourselves, or do we stay out here and wait for the police?”
“Beck,” I start slowly, “If you put this on me… if you get hurt, it’ll be my fault, because it was my choice to go in.”
“It’ll be my choice to follow you.”
A long pause follows his statement before I speak up again. “I love you. You’re my best friend.”
“Then let’s do this together.”
***
“We are in so much trouble,” I cry as I run back towards the exit, “Beckett! We are so screwed!”
“No we’re not! We’re gonna make it! We’ll be fine!”
“We’re not gonna make it!”
“Yes we are!” With emphasis on the last word, I feel Beckett grab me as he runs past, spinning me so that we both go flying out into the street. I quickly scramble up off of the ground, fueled by adrenaline.
“Where are they, Beck? Are they behind us?”
“I think we trapped them in the back room when you knocked over that thing!”
“It’s been half an hour, Beck. What happened to the police? Why aren’t they here?”
“Lyyn, hey, it’s okay. It’ll be alright. Stop pulling your hair.” Beckett pushes himself up and grabs both of my hands, holding them still. “You’re breathing a bit fast there,” he muses as I stare at him incredulously.
“We were just being chased by WANTED CRIMINALS, Beckett! Of course I’m breathing fast! How the hell are you so calm about this?!”
At that he laughs, pulling me against his chest. “I missed you.”
I sigh loudly. “Missed you too, you stupid meatball. Now let go of my face so I can breathe,” I manage to huff out while struggling against him.
Just as he releases his hold on me, three police cruisers pull up, sirens blaring and lights flashing. Two officers step out of each car, four of which race into the building. The next few minutes are a blur. I can’t tell who’s speaking or if they’re speaking to me. It’s all just too much. I can’t do this. I have to go home, I have to—
“Lyyn!” Someone is running towards me. Is that…
“Mom!” I almost can’t see through the wind and rain, but mostly my hair. Nonetheless, I race forward to meet her, tripping over myself on my way. Beck helps to steady me, and I practically throw myself into her arms. “What are you doing here? You weren’t inside were you?! Did you escape with everyone else?! Are you okay?!” Mom laughs at my continuous flow of questions and I feel my face getting hot with embarrassment.
“I’m okay, honey, I promise. I heard about the station and I knew you had been here, so I came as soon as I heard the news,” Mom pushes my hair back from my face, looking up to see Beckett. “Beckett, it’s so nice to see you again.” She grins, pulling him into our embrace.
Beckett smiles sheepishly, the rain moving around us so we don’t get any more wet. “It’s good to see you, too, Sylvia.”
Mom suddenly gets very serious, taking me by surprise, “What were you two thinking, playing vigilante like that? That’s dangerous, you could have gotten hurt!”
My face gets even hotter and I stare at my feet in shame. “I’m sorry, Mom…” I hear her sigh as she tightens her grip on us.
“Sweety, you’re a grown woman. You can make your own decisions, I just get worried, because… Well, I’m your mother, it’s my job to be worried about you. I’m just happy that you’re safe.”
I smile, hiding my face against her shoulder. After a moment, I straighten back up, “Mom, did you run all the way from the hospital?”
***
God, it feels so good to be back at home after all of that!
I drop Beckett’s bags in his room and listen to him wandering around. “Wow, you really took great care of the place,” he muses, running a hand along the stair rail.
“Of course I did, goober, it’s your house.” My retort earns me a flick on the ear when Beck reaches the top of the stairs.
“It’s your house, too,” he laughs, “your name is on the deed.” Without warning, Beckett then scoops me up off of the ground and throws me over his shoulder, causing me to make an embarrassing screeching sound. I can’t help but laugh when he squeezes my sides, even if I don’t want to.
“Beckett James Cassidy, put me down!” I shriek, pushing at his shoulders.
“Not a chance, princess, I haven’t had my work out,” he chuckles, patting my back. I snort indignantly when he adjusts his hold so that I can’t escape.
“How rude of you! I am not a princess, I am a queen,” I drawl with an overly exaggerated posh accent. “Also,” I continue, “I’m not an exercise weight. You can’t bench me.”
“I can carry you around like this for hours, I’m pretty sure I can bench press you.”
“Beck, you haven’t done this in four years.”
“Well, I’ll just have to make up for lost time, then, huh?” Beckett retorts, pretending to use me as a weight. “Besides,” he hums, toeing open a door, “skepticism was always your strong suit. I can do it.” Beck then sets me down and crosses the room to the weight rack. Just as he’s occupying himself with organizing the weights I haphazardly racked this morning, Skittles comes galloping in the room, loudly demanding to be pet.
“Hey, buddy!” Beckett scoops up the fat little tricolor and kisses him on the head. “You’re getting kind of heavy,” he chuckles, rocking Skittles back and forth while the cat happily chirps. While he's busy cooing over our chubby cat, I slip into the next room, a sort of dance studio Beckett and I had set up before he left.
The walls are covered with mirrors and a changing screen is set up in the corner, along with several pairs of dancing shoes and a box full of outfits. The ceiling in this room is high, maybe twenty feet, and a set of studio lights and a lighting panel have been pushed to the wall opposite from the door. The large window is blocked by blackout curtains so that the only lighting comes from the overhead and studio lights. The one wall not consumed by a giant mirror is the one that has the changing screen folded in the corner. The wall is black, so that no light can reflect off of it.
I walk across the room to the studio lights and I’m about to set them up, when I catch my own eye in the mirror. I straighten my back, standing at an unimpressive five feet and four inches. I shouldn’t be surprised to see the color of my own eyes, but I can’t help it. I know it’s natural because of my gift, but my eyes look so fake. They’re not grey like my father’s, but silver, like my throwing knives when I polish them. Paired with my comically long, messy, startlingly black hair, my eyes make me look like a cartoon character. Besides that, my hair always gets in the way of what I’m doing and almost got me killed just a few hours ago.
“Hey, you okay in there?” Beckett calls from the doorway. “You’re kinda quiet, it’s starting to worry me a little.”
“We have to do something about this.” I turn to look at him. “The mop on my head, I mean.” Beckett stares at me for a long moment. After what feels like five minutes, he turns and walks down the hall. “Where are you going?” I call after him.
“Come on,” Beck shouts, “we’re cutting your hair.” Without another word, he runs down the stairs so quickly I think he might trip and fall. I have no choice but to follow him, so I put the lights back against the wall and head to the first floor of the house.
Assuming he went to the bathroom, I turn the corner once I reach the bottom of the stairs and head straight for the second door in the hall. “Beck?” I call, hoping to get an answer.
“Wrong way, your highness.” Beckett pokes his head into the hall from a few doors down as Skittles come puttering out, rubbing on my shins. “This room’s bigger, and there are no mirrors.” He grins, ducking back inside before I can swat him.
Lifting Skittles onto my shoulder, I walk into the room, which has nothing on its walls. “This is a broom closet, Beckett.” I raise an eyebrow skeptically, gesturing to the cleaning supplies around the room. “How is this any better than the bathroom?”
“No mirrors, goof, I already said so. So how short do you want your hair?”
“Just cut it off,” I say and immediately regret upon seeing the mischief in my friend’s eyes. “But do NOT give me a buzz cut.”
“Aww, you’re no fun! Is an undercut alright?”
“Sure, but I still want to have hair,” I roll my eyes as I let Skittles jump from my arms.
“You got it, Lyyn.” With that, he spins me around, gathering my hair into his hands. “Uh… So, the hair tie already snapped.” Beckett is suppressing a laugh as he tries to get a brush through my hair. “If I remember correctly, you aren’t tender-headed, right?”
“Nope,” I drawl lazily. “Not at all. Good luck ever getting that brush back, by the way.”
“Ha-ha, very funny,” Beck says, clearly struggling. “Damn… I’m just gonna go for it.” Beckett gives up on trying to detangle my hair and gets straight into cutting it.
As the sound of scissors cutting through thick hair begins to get louder, signalling that the sheers are next to my ear, I glance to my feet. The floor is practically invisible beneath all of my impossibly dark hair.
Becket sets the scissors aside. “You can take a break for a sec while I sweep all of this up.”
I watch as he retrieves the broom and sweeps pile upon pile of hair into a dustpan, dumping it into the garbage bin that sits nearby. Like he said before, there’s no mirror in this room, so I can’t see what I look like. I trust Beck, though, so I’ll leave him to it.
After a few long minutes, Beckett turns to face me. “Almost done, Lyyn. Just gotta take off some more length and fix it up. Sound good?” I reach my hand up to touch my hair before quickly dropping it back to my side. I don’t want to know how much is gone until he’s done.
Nodding, I say more to myself than to him, “I’m ready.” I can already feel how light my hair is now that most of the length is gone.
Beckett lifts the shears and starts cutting away at what remains of my hair, carving out bangs that don’t hang in my eyes and a hairstyle that doesn’t even touch my shoulders. A few moments pass, the silence broken only by the sound of the scissors. I find myself fixated on my cat, who is now playing with the quickly growing mess of hair on the floor.
“You doing alright?”
The question startles me and I snap out of my daze. “Uh, yeah, I’m okay.”
“You sure?” Beckett sets the scissors aside once more and turns me to face him.
I blink at him for a few seconds. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just lost in thought.” I watch him study my face as he contemplates my answer.
Finally, he says, “Alright,” and gets a small plastic box out of the cabinet.
Curiously, I ask, “What’s in that?”
“You’ll see,” Beck hums and opens the box, taking out several small items.
“Are those… razor attachments?”
“Sure are, Lyyn.” Beckett then takes out a trimmer and turns it on.
Listening to the buzzing sound it makes, I eye it warily. “You’re not going to shave my head, are you? Because if you do, I’ll skin you.”
Beck laughs and turns off the razor, sliding on one of the larger attachments. “No, I’m not going to shave your head, I’m just using this to help shorten your hair and make the haircut more even.”
“Oh. Right.” I turn around and listen as Beckett turns the razor back on and runs it through my hair, right after he shoos Skittles away.
Time continues to pass, and it feels like hours. There are no clocks in here, so it’s hard to tell anyway, but I know it can’t have been more than five minutes.
“All done.”
“Huh?” I turn to look at Beckett, who is cleaning the trimmer so he can put it away. “It’s done?”
“Yep!” After Beck puts the razor back in its box, he hands me a broom. “Mind helping me?”
“Well, it is my hair. I might as well.” I smile warmly, sweeping all of the hair left on the floor into a neat pile, then pushing it into the dustpan that Beckett is holding. Beckett lets the hair slide into the trash can, tapping the edge of the dustpan against the side of the bin so that all of the hair falls out.
“Come on,” he whispers, grabbing my hands. Leading me out of the room, Beck covers my eyes with his hand, turning me around. “On three, okay?”
“Got it.”
“One… two… three.” Beckett moves his hand away from my face, revealing a mirror hanging on the wall in front of us. I gasp audibly, hand shooting to cover my mouth. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
“Oh… my god.” I move towards the mirror, reaching out to touch it. My hair is so short. It’s so much lighter than before; I don’t feel like I’m tipping over because of it, and my hair is short enough to push back in a faux-hawk. The back and sides have been shaved close to my head so that my hairstyle almost looks reminiscent of a kind of punk rock style, but with no heavy eyeliner and less wristbands. “It’s so… different.”
“Do you like it?” Beck asks sheepishly.
After another few moments of staring, I manage to tear my eyes away from the mirror and squeeze Beck around his waist. He leans over and picks me up, squeezing me tightly. “I love it, Beck. Thank you so much.”
